


A Nocturne at Night

by Kisskossfloss



Series: Musings of A Broken Heart [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Bisexuality, Coming Out, F/M, M/M, Phandom - Freeform, Phanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 09:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13478430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisskossfloss/pseuds/Kisskossfloss
Summary: Dan contemplates a sensitive conversation of Phil’s he overheard and a night spent in secret.





	A Nocturne at Night

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is written in the weird 2nd person perspective (the "you" being Phil). It's not a style I have found a lot in general but certainly not in fan fiction. It wasn't my initial intention to write it this way (especially since I do not do that in the companion to this "A Dance at Dawn"). However, I do like the way it came out, and I hope you do too!

The faint light of the hallway peaks under the door trying, but failing, to bring brightness to the dark bathroom where a tall man lay in the bath. 

His body, a bit too large for this tub, or really any tub, is crammed together, knobby knees jutting out of the water, resting on the sides. Even in this posture his body relaxes, becoming heavier and heavier, releasing grip as he sinks deeper. 

Frank Ocean plays quietly in the background, so low that it’s mostly a hum, a sort of melodic buzz that coats the room in a thin layer of melancholy. 

He’s thinking about you, thinking about the series of conversations he overheard. He didn’t mean it, didn’t mean to listen, didn’t mean to _keep _listening once the words formed, but he did. He heard you two speak, he heard her ask you that question he always wanted to know but would never ask.__

____

__

“If you were alone, if we weren’t…would you…with a man?”

And your answer had been so quick, quiet and sure “I think so, actually, yeah.” 

His chest had constricted when he heard that. It constricted now as he sat in the slowly cooling water. Had it been better to wonder and dream then to know the answer? Had it been better to have one question unanswered rather than the dozen new blooming from knowing? 

_I think so, actually, yeah ___

____

____

“Is that something you want to try? I mean, the thought of never experiencing…it seems…unfair” she had stuttered out. This was too intimate, too personal. He should not be listening, but he was paralyzed. His stifled breath growing in impatience in his chest and lungs as he waited for your answer. 

“I’m.” You began, you sounded so quiet, so small. “I’m not sure.”

His eyes close, weariness washes over him. And then a new memory surfaces behind his eyes. The image of you, silhouetted by the city lights outside of his window. Of your black hair draped over your eyes, of your pale skin bleached by the dimness of the room as you crawled over him. What you looked like, a wisp that visits lost knights, as you lowered yourself to rest on top of him. That your lips seemed technicolor red as they parted. 

And then you kissed him.

And then he exhaled. 

And you moaned into his mouth, and all he saw were flashes of those red lips behind his eyes. A ribbon with white and black and red in the darkness. The visceral disconnect of all coherency. 

He felt you lick his neck and bite his collarbone, kiss the spaces between his nipples and above his belly button. He was so still that night, you remember. His body stiff as you moved over him, onto him. 

“Is this ok?” you had asked

“You…god…you couldn’t know” he stuttered out, you stopped, you waited, fear creeping in. 

“This.

Is

All 

I’ve 

Wanted.”

He grabbed your face and pulled you in, licking your mouth, lapping up that violent red. If he was going to find you in the woods, little wisp, if you were going to lead him to damnation, then he’d go willingly.

His fingers scrambled to scratch and claw whatever flesh it touched of yours. Up your back, down your arms, along your thighs. His legs bicycled beside your hips and he grunted and dug into you. 

“Please” 

His movements dulled when you wrapped your hand around him and around you too, his voice breaking as he mumbled into your mouth. And slowly, so very slowly, he became completely untethered. His body only a collection of nerve ending, of sensation, of carnal pleasure that extended into bright flashes. White. Red. Black.  
In your mind, a image of him young and skinny and defensive wearing a thin gray cardigan sitting on your bed flashed as you came. 

He cried that night after you left, silent, hot tears. 

He’s crying now. He doesn’t wipe them away, he likes the feeling of them down his cheeks and collecting in his clavicle. It’s not until you touch his hands that his eyes open. Something about him now, the way he looks crammed in this bath tub, tears down his body, that seems so beautiful and so painful to you. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You tell him but you mean _I love you, I love you, I love you. ___

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read "A Dance at Dawn" please do! This story can be stand alone or it also can be strung together with that story. I imagine this to be a prologue to ADAD but it could also work after the story. If you enjoyed this piece, please let me know! I would love to keep this weird, poetry story of their angsty love/lust going!


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